


It's A Long Way to the Top

by ErzsebethBatoriova



Series: It's A Long Way to the Top [1]
Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: 1970s, Gen, Headcanon, Non-Consensual Violence, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, POV First Person, Pre-Canon, Santa Carla (Lost Boys), Some Humor, Some Plot, Supernatural Elements, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 07:37:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10566660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErzsebethBatoriova/pseuds/ErzsebethBatoriova
Summary: What was Paul's life before he became a Lost Boy? Let the vampire himself tell you!





	1. It's All Gotta Start Somewhere!

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: "The Lost Boys" is copyright (c) Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. and all others associated with legal rights.

When I drank David's blood in the 1980s, I knew damn well what I was getting myself into. It was the promise of a new life and I would be taken on crazy, surreal ride, one that I would never want to get off of.

Just like Star said, I had been the newest member of the gang at the time. A lot of folks think Marko is the youngest, but that couldn't be any farther from the truth. After David got Dwayne and Marko into the family, it was a real long time before they took me in. When I mean a long time, I mean it was at least a few decades of just the three of them together. Four if you wanna count the head vampire, Max.

But we're not here to talk about my times as a rockin' vampire who belongs to the best undead pack around. The fans already know about the Lost Boys' story in Santa Carla, California, the ol' Murder Capital of the World, so there's no reason for me to repeat what's already been seen and said about us.

Nah, I'm here because I want to talk about my life before I met up with the boys. Don't expect me to spout any kind of fancy ass poetry or use lots of big words that contain some kind of hidden meaning. I'm just going to tell it like it was: straight up, no bullshitting.

Alright, maybe a lil' bullshitting. Hey, it's MY story, so I can do whatever I want.

If you're ready to cruise back to the past with me, then welcome aboard and hang on!

The first memory I can easily recall when I think about my past is my mom grabbing one of my Hot Wheels race car tracks and using it to whack my step-dad in the face. I was crying and hollering... NOT because of Steve getting nailed right upside the jaw, but because she tore apart my racing track. I was about to win the championship!

Fighting was the norm in my family. Mom only had one volume when she spoke: LOUD. Steve only knew how to act a few ways: manipulative and phoney. Grams looked like a sweet ol' lady, but she'd clobber you if you didn't listen to her. I was a stupid kid for constantly trying to piss HER off. Crash was mellow and I loved the guy, but most of my memories of him were of him sleeping on the couch and snoring at the most random times. Joey was the little trooper of the household, having to put up with the rest of us. If all was quiet under the same roof when all of us were home at the same time, that was a bad sign. It was the calm before the shit storm.

So yeah, this was the family I was born in, grew up with during my childhood, and was forced to leave behind when I got kicked out at sixteen.

Time to back peddle a bit.

It was the early 1960s when I came into the world, a blond haired and blue eyed kiddo. My biological dad, some top notch doctor at the time, wasn't around when I was born. He was tucked away in his office in Hollywood, busy rubbing elbows with socialites and other stuck up assholes who used money to gain friends and most importantly, status and respect. Mom had been his personal secretary with benefits, just barely in her 20s. She hadn't been working for Dad for a full year when she learned she was pregnant with me. Dad was anything but thrilled. They weren't married and they weren't even dating, but he felt obligated to help out financially – for the first few years of my life, anyhow.

By the way, Dad was in his early 40s when I was conceived. Mom sure knew how to pick 'em.

Dad named me "Paul" in honor of his kid brother who died in the Korean War. Beyond naming me after his only sibling, that was the only real attachment he had with me. I never got to learn about Uncle Paul or even see photographs of him because Dad didn't do that kind of stuff with me – you know, bonding. His excuse was that he was always "working." Dad never told anyone he had a son out of wedlock. His reputation would've been completely shot deader than dead and he would've been finished career-wise. Meanwhile, with Mom, same deal – never told anyone about her little bastard, which would be moi. It was taboo back then for a single gal to have a baby and not be married. Somehow her and Dad agreed that they would live separate lives but that he'd help out with me when he could – again, it wouldn't last long. If anybody asked about where Mom's "husband" was, she always said he worked overseas. If they asked about me, I was just a kid she was babysitting.

Mom and I lived in a tiny apartment in Santa Monica when I was real little. That's right, I was born and raised in SoCal, and for all of my life, human and vampire-wise, I stuck close to the beaches. Everything I ever wanted could be found here, so why bother going anywhere else? Even when shit came to shit later on in life, I would do whatever it took to be able to stay in California. You had the beautiful beaches, the ocean, the people, and the major cities like LA and Hollywood practically at your fingertips. There was always something to do here.

When I was three, Dad ditched us entirely. The meager child support payments from him came to a screeching halt, and all communications with Dad were cut off completely. We later learned that he moved his entire practice out of California and into New York somewhere. So much for Dad wanting to help out. Actually, it would be years when I would hear from him again, but you'll learn about that crap in another chapter. From there on out, Mom and I were on our own.

Mom lucked out and got a job as a waitress, then around the same time picked up another job as a house keeper in a motel. An elderly couple who lived in the unit next door to us, and who just happened to own the apartment complex, was able to watch me while my mom worked her ass off so that we could stay in the same place.

We barely got by, Mom and I, but she provided for me the best way that she could. She didn't have any family she could reach out to because she burned bridges with them a long time ago, and they didn't want anything to do with her. She didn't have any real friends, either. With all the crying and complaining and venting she did onto Grams when she came home at the crack of dawn or real late nights, she made sure I had the basic necessities: food, clothes, and shelter. I'll give the woman credit for doing what she could for me at the time.

The old folks who watched over me growing up became like a set of grandparents to me: Gram and Grandpa Crash. Crash's real name was "Clarence" but every time he settled down in his Lazy Boy Chair, he totally crashed within minutes because it was so cozy to sit in. I've taken quite a lot of naps on that chair myself and damn, you didn't want to leave! Him and Gram never had any children of their own but that didn't stop them from treating me like I was their own grandson.

Not much to say during this time of my life. I was a little squirt who liked playing with the Etch A Sketch and my G.I. Joe action figures. I loved being outside and when it wasn't raining, I was outdoors, wearing out my tennis shoes, getting my clothes dirtied, and skin roughed up with the many spills I took because I'd run too fast and slip. I hardly ever saw my mom unless it was right before I was going to bed at night or early in the AM, but I sure as hell heard her when she started talking. Never give that woman a megaphone because her tone of voice was always cracked up to 11. All in all, I had fun with Grams and Crash.

Steve popped into the scene when I was five years old. Mom skipped off to Las Vegas one weekend and didn't bother telling my grandparents. The only way they found out was when they called the restaurant she worked at and her boss told them about her trip with one of her regular customers. When Mom came back home Monday night, she brought Steve home with her, woke me up out of a sound sleep, and introduced him to me as my "new dad."

I hated Steve with a passion. I still do when I think about all the shit he put me through. At first he was an alright guy. He was half my mom's age and could charm the pants off of anyone in the room. With me, he was more like a big brother than a father, wanting to play with me and bringing me candy from the grocery store where he worked. He'd buy food every week for my grandparents and he never asked for any money from them. He was always wanting to hug my mom or kiss her, and help her out with stuff around the apartment. For a while, he insisted Mom scale back on working so much because he could make enough money within the year to get us moved out of the apartment and into an actual house. He even said he wanted to adopt me and give me his last name so that I could really belong to him. Back then, he was an all around good guy.

A year later, he got injured on the job and it was bad enough that could no longer work at the store. He fell down a flight of stairs and busted his back real good where he was almost paralyzed. When he learned he couldn't do the same work anymore, he went from being Mr. Superactive to being Mr. Super Asshole 24/7 with a pension for drinking and smoking weed. Working in the grocery business was all he had ever done and he didn't want to learn another trade. The "fun big brother" guy vanished and was replaced with a man who demanded constant attention from my mom. She'd be dog tired from work but as soon as she walked through the door, he wanted something to eat or for her to hand over the paycheck on paydays. He said he hated depending on a woman to take provide for him, but he wasn't exactly helping out any by not lifting a damn finger unless it was to put a joint or beer can to his lips. The grandfolks weren't happy about his turn around in behavior, but by this time, Crash was needing to stay in bed more because he was getting more tired, and Grams had to watch out over him, so guess who was stuck watching me after school?

Steve would make me get his food from the kitchen and his beer from the fridge. At six years old, I already knew the taste of booze, and because of Steve I learned how to roll a joint because he would be too lazy to do it. Yeah, my step-dad was the first person ever to introduce me to pot. I wouldn't appreciate it until a few years later (OBVIOUSLY) but back then, I thought the stuff smelled real bad, like a skunk when it sprayed you. Also, I didn't wanna do what he told me to do. I wanted to go out and play! Screw staying indoors! I missed running around after school, but Steve was always bellowing at me to stay inside, because he complained about the "cold breeze" that would come from the opening and closing of the door - even during the summer time. One time I tried to leave on my own without telling him, and he actually got up off the couch, grabbed me by the back of my hair, and threw me down to the ground.

"Stay here, you little shit for brains," he growled before walking back to the couch. Heh, like that was gonna stop me. Too bad I found out that even though Steve came off being lazy and high half the time, when he wanted to make his point, he made his point big time. If I didn't listen to him or I talked back to him, he'd smack me around. I got my fair share of black eyes and busted lips, but did that make me wanna obey him more?

Not really. Sometimes I did stuff for him just to get it over with. Other times I would throw a fit so loud that Grams would have to come from next door and take me to her place until Mom came home. Mom saw how I ended up a lot of the times, but she was usually too tired or frustrated from working so much to care. In her eyes, if I didn't have any broken bones, I was fine. Might have had something to do with HER childhood and how she was raised, but I never asked her about it.

Grams tried to convince Mom to get rid of Steve, but she wouldn't. Steve was the only guy who gave her any sort of attention, even if it was the horrible kind (her doing everything, him sponging off of her). Divorce back in the 60s wasn't too common and my mom didn't want to go through another failed relationship (even though her and Dad never had any real sort of relationship to begin with). Mom wasn't blind, but she felt it was better for her sake if she just looked the other way... after she let the entire neighborhood in on her bitching.

Where was Child Protective Services back then? HA HA HA HA! Yeah, no. Things were different back then. What happened in the house stayed in the house. Some kids got tossed around so much to where they just ran away and never came back. It was just how it was. I didn't run away and as miserable as I was, I had other ways of dealing with life.

By ten, I was a wild kid. I didn't want to listen to anybody who tried to tell me what to do. My teachers went through hell trying to get me to settle down. I had my good days and bad days just like anybody, but the stuff that went on at home would build up to where I'd just explode on someone who pushed my buttons. I had one kid, a bigger kid, wanting to pick on me during lunch time because I had a Woody Woodpecker lunch pail. People call them lunch boxes now but back then, they were lunch pails. I thought Woody was funny, so what was this idiot's deal? Some kids would have cried over being picked on. Me? I used my lunch pail to deck him real good, and that gave him a bloody nose. We ended up throwing down on the ground, punching and wrestling until the teachers had to break us apart. This ended up earning me the respect of a lot of my classmates and even some buddies throughout middle school and high school. Even as explosive as I was, I was able to learn and absorb what I was taught by the teachers. Learning was never a problem, it was just wanting to apply myself to doing the work, and I wasn't having much of that back then.

I put Grams through misery when she was watching me. She would tell me to do something and I would just do the opposite, or look right into her face and say, "NO." I got the belt a few times from Crash when he was able to get up out of bed. The guy was usually laid back, but I was able to push his buttons like nobody's business. They didn't deserve my bratty behavior but I wasn't thinking like that back then. One time I took one of Gram's collectible dishes and threw it against the wall, just because I wanted to see it break. It was a week before I could sit down without any pain because Crash cracked that belt against my butt until it was black and blue.

With Steve, who continued being a big time moocher who whined and moaned about everything was enough of a turn on for Mom. At some point they did the horizontal tango and she got pregnant. Right before my eleventh birthday, my half brother, Joey, came into my life.

I loved Joey right from the start. Some of you might be thinking, "Weren't you jealous of a new baby in the family?" Honestly? I wasn't. If anything, I felt like I had to look out for him, like I had this big responsibility to uphold. I didn't ever want to see him get tossed around like I did because of Steve having a stupid fit. Even though we had different dads, Mom said Joey and I looked like we could be full blooded siblings. He had the same blue eyes and same smile as me. His hair was a little darker shade of blond, but even when he got older and grew his hair out more, you never would've guessed we had different dads. Joey brought some magic into the family, because Steve DID take it easy on me for a while. He didn't yell at me as much and I didn't get smacked too often. I even saw him get up off the couch to tend to Joey whenever he was fussing. I would set up my G.I. Joe figures all around Joey's crib when he slept, so they could help me guard him even while I snoozed. If he got upset, Mom would have me hold him as a last resort, because out of everyone, he would calm down as soon as I held him. When he learned to walk, he would follow me around like a puppy. It was funny and it never got obnoxious. He was a Mini Me in the making. What could I say? We clicked the moment we met.

Even with the baby in the family, things settled back to the way it was all before: Steve fell into his lazy moods; Mom was home for a while because of Joey's birth, but all she ever did was yell at Steve, calling him every name in the book, but then went on and made his dinner like he was king of the castle; Grams would watch over Crash but would come get me when Steve got too rough with me, and she would even take Joey with her...

I could go on and on about the screeching matches and the throwing of random household objects, but then again, how about I just lead us into the next chapter where it's the 1970s and I get myself into some REAL action!?


	2. Bad to the (Broken) Bone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Paul attempts to bring out his inner daredevil.

I wanted to be like Evel Knievel, a real daredevil on a bike. That guy was mad crazy with all the stunts he did! In 1967, I watched ABC's Wide World of Sports and watched Evel perform his first jump on live television, riding a Triumph motorcycle, over a line of cars parked together. I thought that was the coolest thing ever when he flew right over them, and landed it with no problem! He looked like he was flying! I was only six at the time, but it left a big impression on me. I wanted to race the wind and kick gravity's ass.

Picture this: it was the summer of '73. I was a pre-teen hanging out with my buds from school and around the neighborhood, and we were at a construction site. It was the beginning of summer vacation, it was hot, we were sweating like pigs, and we were making the most of our youth. My temper at home wasn't as explosive as it used to be, as I made a habit of staying out as late as I could, even on school days, so I didn't have to deal with my step-dad. Grams took care of Joey most of the time while she was looking after Crash, and Mom was always working. I figured I was one less nuisance at home for everyone except the baby brother.

Anyhow, me and my friends had our bikes and skateboards, and we were jumping over ditches, beams, and pipes. There were no laws about having to wear helmets back then. Kids took spills all the time and I was no exception. I met the ground head on so much and got my skin all bloodied up, but none of that ever stopped me from getting back up and riding again. Never broke any teeth!

Other bones, on the other hand - that part's actually coming up.

There was this steep dirt hill at the edge of the construction site. It looked like whatever this building was going to be, it was going to have some kind of huge basement. I was standing on the very top of this hill while straddling my bike, imagining myself flying at least twenty feet in the air like Evel. All of my buds were gathered at the bottom of the hill and they were chanting, "JUMP! JUMP! JUMP!"

Now you're talking about a twelve year old going on thirteen wanting to make a lasting impression. If I could pull this off, I would be the talk of the neighborhood and the buzz would follow me right into the new school year. Least that's what I thought would happen. I knew I had skills on my bike and I also wasn't a bad skateboarder, but I felt more comfortable riding my knockoff Sting-Ray. Sting-Rays were the muscle bikes of the day but if you could get your hands on a facsimile and customize it, you were considered cool.

I sat down on my bike and started peddling. I gripped the handlebars tight as the front of my bike started to take that first dip down. My heart was racing like crazy before I was even went halfway down. I could already hear my friends cheering me on. I heard nothing else but their cheers for me. For ME! Alice Cooper's song, "School's Out" started playing in my head. Nobody could've said it any better than him.

_"Paul! Paul! PAUL!"_

I laughed and shouted, "WOO HOO!"

I was gonna make it!

Stupid me, though, I was leaning too far forward. Thing to know about going down on dirt slopes or hills or whatever going downward, is that you wanna keep your weight  _back_  just enough so you don't go flipping over your handlebars. Guess what I did? I flipped over my bike and went tumbling the rest of the way down. I couldn't remember even hitting the ground, or feeling any sort of pain, because I completely blacked out. The next thing I knew, I was in the ER. I earned a concussion, busted lip, a tough gash along my temple, and a broken leg. My ears felt like they got boxed in and I could barely hear anything other than the sound of my heartbeat.

I wasn't sure how long I had been in the hospital for. Every time I woke up, I felt like I was floating under water but I couldn't really move on my own. Nothing was hurting, but I couldn't hear much. Thought I was going to go nuts from the silent other than my own heartbeat. Eventually I was able to wake up and not feel so dizzy – not to mention hear again - but that was when I really started feeling the aches and pains. This sucked! Not exactly how I wanted to kick off summer.

Grams was the first person to visit me. She brought Joey with her and when Joey saw me all mangled up, he burst into tears. I felt like a dick because I made him cry when it wasn't my fault!

Fine, maybe it  _was_  my fault but it wasn't like I meant to get messed up. I told him I'd be okay, then Grams blurted out, "You're damn right you're going to be okay because you are NOT getting another bike nor are you going out of the house for the rest of the summer! You can thank your broken bones for that!"

My jaw nearly fell to the ground when she grounded me right there and then. No way! I never stayed indoors! I couldn't! I'd go ape! It was summer time! No school, no teachers – it was freedom away from that stuff on top of getting away from Steve! The thought of being stuck indoors with him made me want to throw myself into a coma so I would  _have_  to stay in the hospital instead of being sent home.

Grams must've read my mind because that was when she told me about Steve finally landing a job. He was going to be delivering chemical supplies in and out of California. He would be gone at least three to four days a week. By the time he would get home, he would be too tired to get on anyone's last nerve.

Now THAT was the best news I heard in ages and now being grounded didn't sound as bogus. I only felt bad for Joey, because he stopped crying over me at this point and was now crying over not being able to see his dad a lot. It must've been his first time hearing about it, and even Gram looked a little worried but  _only_  because the kid was crying. There was no love loss between her and Steve. They were always butting heads about something, so not seeing him on a daily basis would be a vacation for her, too. I did give Steve credit for not acting as much of a jerk around his own kid.

Staying in for the summer because of my broken leg on top of my bike getting thrashed – bummer! Not having to deal with Steve's ugly face for much of the summer – bitch'n! I wouldn't have to put up with him yelling at me for stupid shit or throwing stuff at me because I'd mouth off at him. I wasn't thirteen yet but I was growing like a weed and getting stronger. A couple of times he tried to physically push me around, I ended up shoving him right back. Probably helped that I ate like a horse and was always outside doing stuff, keeping in shape and all without even thinking about it. I'll tell you, though, one time, a couple of weeks before summer vacation, Steven and I were butting heads big time. He belted me across the face and gave me a big ol' shiner. I ended up pushing him over the ottoman and he almost cracked the back of his head against the fire place. Later on down the road it would get worse between me and him but I'll save that stuff for another chapter.

Even with a broken leg and all these bandages over my body that made me look like a mummy who just walked out of a car wreck _,_ as soon as I was brought home from the hospital, I turned around and headed out... Okay, not RIGHT away. Give or take a day or two because I couldn't stand being cooped up at home. I hated using the crutches and a lot of the times I would just end up chucking them aside and hobbling on one foot in order to move around in the apartment.

Mom didn't freak out much when I finally saw her on the second day I was home. If anything she just got pissed off that I got hurt. She told me I was lucky that my grandma was there to take me home because there was no way she or "my dad" (I swear she referred to Steve as my dad even though she knew how much I couldn't stand him, just to piss me off) could take time off of work to get me. Jeez, love you too, Mom.

Did my buddies ever come visit me at the hospital? A couple of them did, but from what I was told, when I got into my accident, a lot of them split because they didn't want to get in trouble and I wouldn't see their faces until school started up again. Thanks, guys, remind me to ditch your asses when any of you need help. But Jackie and Tyler did swing by to see me quite a few times. They lived in the apartment complexes next to mine and we all went to the same school together. We only started hanging out last summer, but I considered them my closest friends.

They helped me get out of the house and we all would go to the movies. Grams said I couldn't go out, but when did I ever really listen to anyone? First time she caught me leaving, she threatened to smack me with a rolled up newspaper but she never did. I did end up getting a major earful from her when I got back home, but from there on out, it wasn't a big deal to her if I left, so long as I didn't make a ton of noise when I came back to her place or mine.

There was this one small theater real close to home and it was a little run down, but they played some old time movies and films that had come out only a few years ago. Tyler's older brother worked at the theater and he would always let us in through the back. Jackie hooked it up by bringing in beer and I provided the weed (with Steve being gone most of the week, I was able to sneak into his belongings and jack what I needed), and we'd be sitting in the back row taking it easy.

It was this year that I really started appreciating the weed and all that it did for me. Not only did it help me cope with the pain my body was still experiencing, but overall it made me relax more in general. Sometimes I'd get high before going to school and I took anything that happened to me in stride: teachers yelling at me, girls taking notice of me, guys wanting to pick fights with me... Here was the thing: teachers, they're always gonna wanna yell at someone no matter what; high or not, I liked the attention the girls were giving me and I would return the favor for some of them; as for the guys wanting to start trouble for me, I got along with everyone in general, but some dudes didn't like that. They wanted to prove themselves for whatever reason, like they could kick around anyone, and every time they tried anything with me, whether I was high or not, I delivered their asses to them. For the most part, most so-called "bullies" left me alone because I could handle myself. Even if I couldn't for whatever reason, I had friends who would be more than willing to back me up.

I kinda got off track here, ha, ha. Back to the movies - Tyler's brother wouldn't let us drink or smoke inside unless we were the only people inside. We sometimes had to bribe him by letting him hang with us. We kicked it in the back rows whether there were other folks watching the movie with us or not. Basically we got away with doing whatever we wanted. A couple of times we brought along some girls from school and, heh, yeah, it was make-out city for sure.

I watched  _Night of the Living Dead,_ a whole slew of  _Dracula_  based movies starring Christoper Lee, and a bunch of other sci-fi/horror/what-the-hell-did-I-just-watch? deals, like  _A Clockwork Orange and Slaughterhouse-Five_  . It was this time I really got exposed to the whole supernatural world. Back then, these movies were groundbreaking to watch on the big screen. It was fun to check out the gore, the cheese, and the blood splatter – even better when you didn't have to pay a cent to watch them!

The thing I noticed in the zombie movies, was that the zombies were kinda slow and couldn't do much unless there was a bunch of them that outnumbered the idiots who were dumb enough to stick around instead of running away. Vampires on the other hand – yeaaah. They struck the loudest chords with me. You got to look the same as you did when you were alive and all you had to do to survive was drink blood and stay out of the sun while sleeping the day away. If I were a vampire, I could still be ME, not a rotted, brain-dead flesh eater who only wanted to eat people. I wouldn't be ME. If I wanted to go out and party as a vamp, I could do that. The vampire me could scarf up blood and live the night life way after midnight. Plus, one vampire could do more damage and was way smarter than a group of shuffling zombies. Vampire hunters wouldn't get the best of me because I'd always be one step ahead of them. I'd watch so many vampire movies, I'd know all of their tricks!

Speaking of hunters, I noticed the only things that ever put the brakes on the whole killing humans deal and partying it up undead style were the heroes. Tyler and Jackie would be rooting for the good guys. I'd be shouting at the screen for the monsters to win. The bad guys had way more fun.

I didn't talk about this vampire stuff outside of the movie theaters. None of my other friends were into it. At home or in school, or just hanging out anywhere else, I was more concerned with getting high, listening to rock music, and just having fun. Vampires weren't a major obsession for me and it would be until years later that I would learn that they were, in fact, real. For now, I was just wondering what else I could do to entertain my teenage self.

Yet I knew, deep down, Evel Knievel no longer sounded as exciting as becoming a rockin' and rollin' vamp.


	3. Hitchin' a Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Paul gets hit on by an older woman at a concert, and randomly goes wherever he wants.

Music has always been a big part of my life. As a kid in the 60s, Mom or Grams usually had the radio going on in the apartment. I was exposed to the sounds of The Temptations, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Jefferson Airplane, Bob Dylan - lot of music legends. Grandpa Crash wasn't too big on what was considered modern music then. He was into swing/jazz music from the late 30s and 40s like the Glenn Miller Orchestra and Louis Armstrong. That stuff all sounded the same to me, but Crash sure dug it and it was one of the few things that kept him wake.

In the 1970s, I preferred the heavier, more rocking sounds: Led Zeppelin, The Ramones, AC/DC, Kiss, Aerosmith, Queen, and I could go on. I had band posters up on my bedroom walls and a sweet record collection. Mom actually surprised me with a record player on my thirteenth birthday. That record player got used a LOT during high school. Steve would be banging on my door whenever he was home, telling me to "turn down that goddamn noise" but I would be an ass and turn up the volume even more. I had to keep Joey out a lot of the times only because he loved to grab his hands on stuff he knew he wasn't allowed to touch, and that included my record collection. Couldn't help but think he got that determined attitude from me, heh. I had the Robert Plant hairstyle going on: kinda long but not real curly but more wavy than anything. I could never let my hair go down past my shoulders. It just didn't look right to me at the time.

My first major concert happened in 1974. Jackie's older cousin took him, me, and Tyler to Ontario (no, not Canada but down by LA) where there was a massive outdoor gig happening. Jackie's cousin worked at a radio station at the time and he had some extra tickets for the concert. He was major cool about giving them to us. Jackie didn't have too many friends in general, so me and Tyler were total shoe ins for coming along. If you wanna talk about unforgettable concerts, this was one of them! I got to see Black Sabbath, Deep Purple, The Eagles, and a bunch of other rock and roll bands. At the time I had no idea this was going to be broadcasted on TV because there was so much going on over there: super loud, deafening sound systems, people yelling, screaming, the stage catching on fire, the Goodyear Blimp flying over us, a piano was being played while in mid-air... Stuff like that you do NOT forget.

I had no problem scoring weed and alcohol. We all just wanted to have a good time and nobody had issues sharing with anyone. The only time I saw the crowds get a little wild was when the concert itself was supposed to kick off, and Deep Purple didn't come out until way later than scheduled. I wasn't complaining too much because even though I wanted to hear some tunes, I was just happy being there in general. That and I was super high, so I couldn't get mad about anything even if I wanted to.

"How come you aren't up on stage?" I heard a voice, a female's voice, whisper right into my ear. Her breath was warm and I swore she almost wanted to bite my earlobe. Kinda kinky.

I saw this foxy mama right next to me. You wanna talk hot? She had long, dark hair like Valerie Bertinelli, nicely tanned skin, and lush pink lips. She wore this tight halter top that showed off her tits nicely, and hot pants she must have gotten poured into. Man, oh man, she was sizzling... and she wondered why I wasn't on stage? My confidence was soaring and something else in my pants was getting hard, too.

I was teenage guy, what would you expect?

"Nah," I said, playing it cool as I tilted my head toward her. "Just enjoying the view and the tunes. Are you having a good time?"

She gave me a sultry smile and she casually rested her elbow on my shoulder. She pretended to lean into me, but then she straightened her elbow and brought her hand down in order to grab my ass. WHOA! Hell-o! She had a good grip there, but as I turned toward her, her mouth was now hovering over mine.

"I will be once I get you alone somewhere," she said, her lips so juicy looking and fine enough to kiss that I almost groaned. Oh crap, how old did this chick think I was? I was only thirteen at the time (actually, was gonna turn fourteen in just a couple of weeks but I looked a little older). If I had to guess, she was at least seventeen, maybe even eighteen... but when I was smoking and drinking and losing myself to the music, having a damn near grown woman trying to pick up on me, at the time, was a thrill.

That was when Jackie's cousin saw what was going on, because he pulled the gal off of me and told her to go fuck off. The girl threw some choice words at him before she pushed her way through the crowd and vanished all together. Ah, shit, there went THAT opportunity, I thought. Jackie's cousin gave me a quick lecture on predators and how no matter what they look like, a predator was always a predator. They saw something they liked, they were gonna do whatever it took to take what they wanted.

Afterwards I had to brag to Tyler and Jackie about what happened with me and that woman, and they were jealous. We've all made out with girls our age, but to have a chick who was almost an adult try to score some fun with you? That would've made us kings right there. Later on, when I was more sober, I was aware that woman wanted to take advantage of me or do something worse. Now, if I had been a young girl and it was an older guy picking up on me, people would've flipped their lids right there and then. But because I was a boy getting picked up by a woman, then it was more like... I dunno. It's a double standard when the roles of the sexes are reversed, even today. 'Scuse me for the serious moment there for a second.

Just about every weekend if I wasn't going to the movies, or going out on dates, I was hitching rides with someone to check out concerts. I would even go all the way down to Hollywood to see what was happening. I liked seeing the massive billboards there because you'd always catch some kind of giant, crazy ad for a celebrity or a band. Sometimes I imagined what it would be like to see my face plastered there. I'd be thrashing away on the drums or even taking up the microphone, and all these fans of mine would be surrounding me. Talk about living it up right there!

There was this hot spot on the Sunsets Strip, a joint called Rodney Bingenheimer's English Disco. What a name. It was glam rock city for people who were into acts like Ziggy Stardust and the New York Dolls. I wasn't too much into the scene myself but it was fun scoping out the guys and girls who dressed themselves up all androgynous and wild just so they could get inside. One time, I managed to sneak in for a few minutes and I couldn't tell you how many pill poppers I saw. They were scarfing those things down like they were candy but everyone was acting like they were movie stars, completely on top of the world. Bright lights, loud music, and sex was kind of all over the place. It felt like I was on another planet... Until security caught me and threw me out. Now, I was never too much into swallowing pills. Weed has been, and always would be, my choice of drug.

My friends and I spent a few good weekends in the Hollywood area, but like all things, the good times gradually started winding down. We were getting bored of the same stuff. It was only entertaining for so long. I mean, we even started going to school again because we were that starved for something different.

So one day, Tyler suggested we all make our way to Santa Carla.

You know, the MURDER CAPITAL OF THE WORLD?

"Why you wanna go there?" Jackie asked. The three of us were sitting on my bedroom floor, smoking weed, and listening to Jim Morrison crooning the lyrics to "L.A. Woman" off my record player. We had towels stuffed under the door. The room completely rank of pot and the air was thick and hazy. That was when Tyler brought up the city known for its super high murder rate. Just last year, some dude turned himself into the SC cops and he was known as "The Co-Ed Killer." He was supposed to have killed and hacked a bunch of people. He was just one of three guys who went around hacking and slashing people because they were totally nuts. Even with them all behind bars, people were still known to end up missing or winding up dead somewhere there. California sure knew how to deliver the action. With the Zodiac Killer and the Manson Family murders still fresh in everyone's minds, it was no wonder folks would probably wig out over even thinking about coming near a city with a nickname that has "murder" in it.

Me and my friends, though, we were too chilled to even get riled up over any of that.

"It's different," Tyler replied with a glazed look in his eyes, the same look we all had. It was enough of a reason to go for it.

I rolled my head along my shoulders and sat back against my bed. Santa Carla? It would be a change of pace compared to Hollywood, that was for sure. Even though I lived by the beach all my life, we were gonna be heading up to Northern California, and it would take a little bit longer to drive to. More beaches but different area all together. We just had to convince someone to take us there.

I decided it had to happen. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to go. I always wanted to check out the Bay Area and we'd be right at the southern tip of it whenever we'd reach Santa Carla... and to see if the murder/disappearing actions were true or not.

Warm sands, kidnappers, murderers, hippie occultists, amusement park rides, cotton candy – right on!

"Santa Carla, here we come," I announced with a lazy laugh as I raised my joint as did Tyler and Jackie did, 'toasting' our next adventure.


	4. Santa Carla Dreamin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Paul and his buddies visit Santa Carla for the very first time.

The 70s was a crazy ass time to be in Santa Carla. You know, because of all the killers popping up and slicing up people left and right. David, Dwayne, and Marko might've helped with the body count back in the day, but a few humans were doing just fine scaring the shit out of the seaside town residents and visitors alike. Naturally it only made me and my buddies more eager to check things out.

The weed was thick in the air and there were hippies galore in downtown. It was broad daylight and a number of people were buzzed out of their minds were trying to talk to anyone whose attention they could capture. It was hilarious. Nobody batted an eye at me, Jackie, and Tyler walking around when kids our age should have been in school. Actually, we saw quite a few kids who should have been in school just chilling out and enjoying the day. Everything seemed so relaxed and mellow in Santa Carla. I was digging it big time.

Oh yeah, you're probably wondering how we all got here. Simple – we hitched! We couldn't convince any of our other friends or acquaintances to drive us, let alone cut school to drive three hundred plus miles. We lucked out and found someone who was driving up to the Bay, and he allowed us to sit in the back of his pickup truck. The thing was, was that it was one way and we'd have to find some way back home. We'd figure that out when the time came to leave. For now, we just wanted to soak in the sun and the babes.

"Not too many skaters," Jackie complained as we walked toward the seaside amusement park called the Santa Carla Boardwalk. It wasn't as if any of us brought our skateboards.

"Uh, because they're probably in school," Tyler pointed out before playfully elbowing Jackie, but then he quipped, "Or they got killed!"

I chuckled darkly before raising by brow at the approaching telephone poles. The thing was plastered with missing signs and the people listed ranged from lil' kids to full grown adults. Now that I thought about, almost every pole, bus stop, and display window we passed offered some kind of missing poster of a loved one.

"Can't be too bad of a place if they got this going on," I said, jerking a thumb at the high rise roller coaster that loomed ahead. Now that was something I wanted to ride! "How much we got on us?"

The three of us stopped just outside of the main entrance and we went through our pockets and backpacks looking for money. Seeing as now none of us had real jobs or means of getting income unless we resorted to stealing from our families, we didn't have enough for rides. Not like it mattered, because we found out that the rides were closed due to it being off season and it was the middle of the week. We just decided to pig out on garlic fries and soda pop.

Other than the food, my first impression of the boardwalk was "meh." Nothing too exciting, seeing as how there wasn't many people walking around. You had joggers, the occasional tanner on the beach, and the tourist trap shops were open, but other than that, there wasn't much to it. It was almost a complete 180 compared to what we saw in town earlier.

It was kinda… nice.

And no Surf Nazis back then! I mean if they were there, they weren't hanging out in the day time.

Santa Carla had a super laid back atmosphere, couldn't go wrong with living at the beach, lots of sun – oh yeah, the murders. It didn't scare me. Not too much scared me, and it wasn't because I watched more than my fair share of horror movies. I just hadn't had anything totally rattle my bones and made me question life.

"I've decided this is gonna be my home!" I declared as we all sat just outside of the boardwalk arcade, finishing the rest of our food and drinks. The arcade building was huge and it had a bunch of games to play inside where you can win prizes. They even had a machine to play  _Space Invaders!_  Me and Tyler had a blast shooting aliens on screen while Jackie just cheered us on and watched. When we ran out of money to keep playing, that was when we went outside.

Jackie, who was slurping on his soda loudly, gave me a funny look as if I sprouted another pair of eyeballs.

"The killers don't scare you?" he asked me.

Tyler laughed and elbowed me in the arm. "You're talking about Paul who broke up his body trying to impress the rest of us that one summer, remember? A place like this won't scare him!"

I laughed along with Tyler and we gave each other high fives. I was closer to Tyler than I was Jackie. Both were my buds but Tyler just understood me a lot better. Jackie worried a lot, but I guess it was good to have someone to stop and make us think about stuff, even if nine out of ten times we did what we wanted to do regardless.

"Real soon," I promised as I tilted my head up and stared at the skies. The sun had set some time ago and the skies were these cool shades of dark blue with stars starting to peek out. Even though I already lived damn close to the beach, there was just more appeal to this town. It was almost calling me to stay.

Nope, wait, it was Jackie calling out to me – screaming, rather.

Looking back down, I saw Jackie curled up on the ground, getting his ribs kicked in by this grimy homeless dude. The guy had a gnarly beard going on, ratty hair, and these beady eyes that were focused on Jackie, like he was going to do whatever it took to cripple him.

"HEY!" I shouted as me and Tyler sprang to our feet. I didn't hesitate to tackle this guy and Tyler went in to grab Jackie. I landed roughly by the stairs leading down to the volleyball area. The homeless guy was lying next to me, muttering something about how we were going to die. If you didn't believe this dude didn't have a place to live, you could smell it. He was a walking advertisement for garbage.

"For your own good," the guy growled as he grabbed the bottom of my shirt and tugged on it. Right away I used my fist to break his hand away.

"Back off, man!" I protested, getting angry. I was confused as hell, but definitely pissed over the way he hurt Jackie. I wanted to see how Jackie was doing but I had a feeling if I looked away, this guy was going to reach out to me again. I was ready for him, though.

When I was little, Grandpa Crash taught me how to fight. Being old and, well, fat, didn't convince me that he knew what he was doing even at that age, but the first time I ever got into a fight, I remembered real quick what to do and what NOT to do. Like throwing a fist? Don't ever tuck your thumb in. Keep it on the outside so you don't break it while you're trying to break the other guy's face in. I never did break anyone's face, but I did kick the guy's ass for starting shit with me for no good reason.

All throughout school, I was this guy that just sailed on through my classes, not worrying about anything and just having a good time. I never started trouble for anyone and I got along with a lot of my classmates. Even kids who didn't have the same classes as me knew of my rep for being easy-going.

One dude, some transfer student, had a major problem with me my sophomore year. I had one class with the guy, math class, and I'd always catch him glaring at me like I killed his dog and wouldn't apologize. I didn't rattle my brain trying to figure out what I did to him. Not everyone had to like me.

Months later, he decided he would pick a fight with me during passing period. He apparently had enough of my carefree attitude and that if he had to see me cruising through life and not worry about consequences, then he would physically force me to be miserable just because he was. I didn't really know who he was, other than he was a kid in my class who had a shit attitude and probably a shit home life. I wasn't going to let him drag me down.

As soon as I had walked out of class, the kid grabbed me by the back of the neck and slammed me face first into the nearest locker. I was seeing stars big time, but I soon afterward snapped. Ignoring the pain, I whirled around and started pummeling the kid's square Frankenstein mug with my fists. The kid was a head taller than me and was built like a brick house, but that didn't stop me from wailing on him. I was smaller, yeah, but I was way faster. I think I surprised him too, because he didn't believe I could fight back the way I did. The other kids scrambled out of the way as I continued punching this guy, and when he fell on his back, I started kicking him real hard, too. I couldn't stop! I just wanted to keep going and going and going like the Energizer Bunny. At one point, my shoe flew off because I was kicking that hard.

Finally the teachers came by and had to pull me off of the guy. It wasn't pretty. He was bleeding from the nose and mouth pretty bad. My own knuckles were cut up from hitting so hard and I was sweating like a pig. We had a crowd watching us and everyone was shocked over what happened. They didn't expect anything like THAT coming from me. I got sent home after getting patched up by the nurse but at the same time I got off real easy. The principle knew I wasn't that kind of kid and even after talking to Grams on the phone about me, I got the vibe that I was in the right for doing what I had to do.

Alright, so I literally didn't kick his ass, but I had gotten his face and chest real good!

"George, I'm going to call the police if you don't get moving."

Someone was talking behind me. I was still on the ground when I looked up and saw this tall dude wearing a tanned polyester suit, suede shoes, and glasses standing there. I almost wanted to laugh out loud because with his middle aged-librarian face, he did not look like he'd be hitting the disco club any time soon.

I looked back at the homeless guy, George the goddamn psycho, and saw him with this weird fixed expression on his face, like he was in a trance.

The man above me sighed and said, "Go on."

And with that, Psycho George brought himself to his feet and wandered down to the beach, never once looking back at any of us.

"Paul!" Tyler called out to me.

Shaking my head, I was helped to stand with the new guy's help before I went over to Jackie. He was sitting up and holding an arm across his ribs.

"Anything broken?" I asked as I knelt down beside him and Tyler.

Jackie's skin was all pale, like he'd seen a ghost. I couldn't blame him. George just snuck up on us without warning.

"I don't think so," he said, before turning his attention to Disco Dude. "Thanks for making him stop, mister."

Wannabe Disco King gave us a small smile. Seriously, he could be someone's stay-at-home dad with that face of his. "You're welcome. My name is Max, by the way. You boys must be new around here. Santa Carla, while generally a pleasant place to be, can be a little unsavory after dark."

Yes, you read right:  _ **MAX, FUTURE OWNER OF VIDEO MAX, IN A POLYESTER SUIT.**_  Like  _that_  sink into your brain!


	5. Easy Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Paul enjoys what Santa Carla has to offer him.

So yeah, that was the first time I ever met Max. No, I had no idea I'd meet up with him years later… Wait, don't know what I'm talking about? Go back and read the last chapter, you goof! Quit trying to skip around on my story. Even I have a hard time keeping things in order, and I'm the one narrating this thing!

After Max used his influence on Psycho George (looking back, it was an obvious DUH that his mind tricks were a big part of that), he invited us to rest in his music shop located on the pier. Yup, before he had Video Max, in the 70s, there was Max's Music. According to him, he sold records of all shapes and sizes, cassette tapes, and good ol' 8-tracks.

With Jackie super shook up, my buddy didn't want to go any further into the boardwalk. If anything, he wanted head back into town.

"Nah, man, we're gonna get rollin'," I said to Max, shooting down his offer. Crazy, huh? Not because I suddenly developed the ability to see the future and know what kind of trouble he would get us into by wanting one big happy vampire family. I also didn't turn down Max because I decided right there and then to stop enjoying music. I would've loved to have checked out the kinds of tunes he carried. Fashion disaster or not, he probably had a store full of music! In all seriousness, I wanted to make sure Jackie was going to recover from this attack. He wasn't much of a fighter but unlike me, when push came to shove, he couldn't fight back. He sometimes had major bad panic attacks that not even weed could help him out. We were going to head back downtown where all the hippies were hanging out and take it easy.

Max didn't seem disappointed at all. In fact, he looked a little… pleased? He smiled kinda creepy, which made me think what a good idea it was turning him down.

"Good call, son."

Here's the thing: back then and even now, I hate when people call me their "son" or "boy." Like what the hell? I don't belong to anyone like that.

"You've probably seen the pictures of all those poor missing souls," Max went on. "It's never ending, I'm afraid. The boardwalk can be particularly bad. George is just one of the many vagrants who wanders the park often. He could have gotten worse, so please, boys, be careful and keep your eyes open."

Tyler and I helped Jackie stand up and even though he was slightly hunched over, he could manage to stand on his own.

"Thanks for the heads up," Tyler said to Max. "We won't forget!"

Even when my buds and I started to walk away, I could feel Max watching us. Talk about a hair-raising feeling. I could have been grateful for Max helping us out back there, but I had this nagging suspicion that something else was going on with him.

I wouldn't find out until YEARS later.

Almost right away we could feel the change of the atmosphere of downtown once we walked away from the park. It was like we could breathe again. On the one hand, there wasn't much to do at the boardwalk when we were there during the day, but night time really brought on a different vibe – bad ones.

We saw random teenagers out, the non-hippie type, since it was a warm night and we got to talk with some of them. We learned that so many people ran away to Santa Carla, from all over California, to start new lives. Some of them even came from out of state. Good to know I hadn't been the only one wanting to give this place a chance.

Jackie, who was recovering from his attack, even shared his story of what just happened to us at the boardwalk. Nobody was surprised and a couple of them had their own horror stories about George. We learned that it wasn't uncommon for familiar faces to just suddenly disappear without a trace or get into confrontations with the homeless. Like "no biggie, this chick or dude I was digging with up and vanished, or got the crap beaten out of them. Life goes on!" These kids were living life on the edge here.

First off, I couldn't help but feel sorry for a lot of them. They came from messed up home lives and their only way to escape was to run away. There were times I was so pissed off at my step-dad for being a douche, or my mom for taking his side over mine, but some of these other kids, it was like life or death. Either they stayed home and possibly die due to their circumstances, or they struck it out on their own and took a chance.

Actually, scratch that. I didn't feel sorry for them. I admired them.

I wanted things to work out better at home, I really did, even though I loathed the fact that Mom was spending whatever money she made that didn't go to bills onto whatever Steve wanted. His lazy, couch riding ass still didn't do shit for our family, but Mom kept doting on him. I never got the appeal of him: smug asshole who made promises he would never keep. The only decent thing he did was look after Joey, who was starting to act more and more like me. He was now taking care of my G.I. Joe action figures and using his hands to beat on books and pillows like they were drum cymbals! How cool was that?

That was going to be a project I wanted to see happen one day: getting a drum set. Not like I had anywhere to put it. Our home was small and cramped already. It didn't help that Steve was a human pat rack, cramming away the crap Mom bought him anywhere he could. He tried putting his shit into my bedroom one time, and I just opened my window and chucked it out onto the lawn.

I told you earlier (Psst! Chapter One if you forgot!) how I listened to music as a little tyke. Growing up, to help me calm down during times I'd be super pissed off, I'd put on some 8-track tapes, closed my eyes, and just listened to the tunes and the intensity of the drumming. My hands would start beating on top of stuff and I would try to match the beats to the music playing.

"Wanna check out some live acts?" one of the local kids asked, as if they had been reading my mind.

"Sure!" I shouted without hesitation. I actually didn't want to think about going home any time soon. Jackie and Tyler were on the same page as me, so we took off with some of the teens to some hidden hotspots in and around town. What went from checking out an impromptu concert was a week long "vacation" for us. We partied all night and it didn't even matter if it was a school day. Time didn't mean a whole lot to us. We stayed in all different places all over town whether we had permission to or not. We were living life without any cares in the world. We were meeting all sorts of people, young and old, and it just made me not ever want to leave Santa Carla.

I did notice that nobody would ever talk about going to the boardwalk after hours. It was an unspoken rule among everyone, to just stay away from there at night, and I wasn't going to argue with it because I was having way too much fun.

At one point, Tyler and Jackie and I all separated. We were hanging out with different groups of kids, trying all sorts of stuff… Drug stuff. I only ever took to weed completely. Being stoned out of my mind and on the beach was great. LSD, ecstasy, inhalants – they were alright but the best part of it all was that they were free for me to try out. Did 'em all once, and that was it. Weed had, and always would, win me over. I dunno, it wasn't as if anybody ever died of too much weed. Try too much of any of the other drugs and you've got a good chance of croaking.

Speaking of croaking, my days in Santa Carla were numbered when I was approached by a police officer who had a flyer in his hand. I was at the skate park getting ready to show off my moves on a board that was loaned to me by one of my new buddies. I was high off my ass, too, so it would've been funny to see what kind of skills I could pull off under this state. The officer asked me my name and where I lived.

I said, "Uhh..."

I was ready to lie and give him a fake name and everything, but then he held up the flyer with a picture of me from last year's year book with the huge words of MISSING on top.

I couldn't help but chuckle, because I'd forgotten how lame I looked in the picture. I'd been partying the night before we were to get our pictures taken, so in the morning I looked like dog shit. I didn't comb my hair, there was sleep crust in my eyes, I went to school in my pajamas – but I DID smile! Or tried to. It was a half smile if anything. I wasn't allowed a re-shoot so I was stuck with THAT in the yearbook. I always swore that my senior picture would be me at my flashiest. Hey, I made the attempt to go to school, alright?

"Busted, huh?" I managed to say as I peered up at the police officer, who was now beckoning me to his squad car parked at the park entrance.

So not cool.


	6. Lies A Body, Oozin' Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Paul meets a total nutcase.

My days in Santa Carla were numbered when the cop confronted me. I lucked out when the cop turned out to be an okay dude. He said he had a son around my age and we had the same kind of easy going personality. He didn't hassle me or anything. I wished all policemen were like him.

While I was sitting in the back of his squad car, we were cracking jokes and talking about the boardwalk. He said the next time I came to visit (as in, by NOT ditching school), I ought to come during the summer time. The place was full of people and there would be live music playing on the beach. This was stuff I already heard about from the kids I was partying with, but it was cool to have someone like him confirm how kickass it was. Then he went all serious on me and said how dangerous it was for teenagers like me to be running around during all hours of the night when I should be home studying. Suuure thing - NOT. I hardly ever studied for anything anyways. If I was halfway interested in the subject, I would make space in my brain to retain the info.

"I know, I know," I told him. The way I said it, it wasn't just an answer to feed him so he would stop talking to me. I meant it.

Before I knew it, I was in the Santa Carla Police Department, where my buddy cop had to go back on patrol. I was placed under the supervision of another cop, a dude with a buzz cut and take-no-shit attitude. He fired off question after question of what I was doing here, why I wasn't in school, who I was with, and all that. I didn't tell him anything about Tyler or Jackie. I was loyal to my friends no matter what (I was no snitch), so I just told him I hitchhiked here on my own because I had nothing better to do. It was sort of the truth, too. I was generally pretty good with lying, because as hard as Mr. Buzz Cut tried to grill me for more answers, I just made up responses on the spot. Some of it was completely off the wall and he wrote everything down, thinking he was cracking me good. I wanted to laugh at some of the stuff I was coming up with, but that would have given me away. Plus, he didn't smile once at any of my jokes, so he was officially labeled lame in my book.

I lost track of the time, but Mr. Buzz Cut ended our fun interrogation when he said I was going to board the next Greyhound Bus leaving for SoCal. Someone at the station had called my mom about me being here. I learned she wired money over, which allowed a bus ticket to purchased. I was surprised, because I expected Grams to be the one to do that sort of thing, because Mom was always busy with work or spoiling Steve. Made me wonder what I was going to get myself into when I returned home.

It was almost 9:30 at night when I got on the bus. According to the ticket stub, I wouldn't get home until after 7 in the morning. I was not looking forward to this. All I had with me was my backpack and it was filled with flyers from some of the venues I went to, and a little bit of weed stashed inside a secret pocket the cops missed during their search of my belongings. Not that I was going to smoke it inside the bus. Besides, I wanted to save it for later. Hell, even if I had a book with me, I wouldn't read it. Reading books or even magazines was never a pastime of mine. Just sitting and looking at words while sober was not for me. I had to be out doing something, be on my feet, otherwise I got all antsy. Mom said I was always like that, even as a little kid, and it was connected with my anger issues. She said I was like a time bomb ready to go off.

I picked a window seat in the back of the bus and it was then that the driver pulled out of the station. I caught one last sight of the roller coaster from the boardwalk and I groaned. I wondered how my buddies were doing, and if they were making the most out of this trip.

Something brushed against my arm, and from window's reflection, I saw a dude who was probably in his early twenties taking a seat next to me. Crap, I was hoping nobody would take that spot, because I wanted to stretch my legs across the seat and snooze until we got back home. I didn't even see this guy board the bus after I did. Then again, I didn't look at anyone when I came in, as I was too busy thinking about stuff: music, Tyler, Jackie, the cute older girls who worked at some of the boardwalk shops... You know, important things.

I made the mistake of stealing a quick glance at the person next to me. He caught me, and that right there gave him the cue to talk.

"H-Hey," the guy greeted nervously, now not wanting to make complete eye contact with me for whatever reason. His hands were stuffed in his coat pockets and he was bouncing one of his knees, making soft tapping noises with the bottom of his heels. Then he brought up one of his knees so he could re-tie the laces of his boots. There was a dark, questionable stain on the top of this one boot, but I couldn't see what it was exactly with the dim lighting of the bus. Going by what I could see from the side of his face, he was sporting some shoulder-length shaggy hairstyle like David Cassidy.

I turned back to the window just as the guy turned away, probably because he was thinking I was trying to stare at him. I did get another glimpse of his mug through the reflection as the bus passed under some street lights. While his hair was like the pop singer,'s his face was… well… imagine if David Cassidy got smacked with a golf club a few times so that it made his entire face bloated, but managed to keep some of his teeth in-tact. Lucky me, he was my riding companion.

Sure enough, I was soon dying of boredom. I tried to take in the view of nature as we rode along Highway 1, like checking out the forests, the stars, and the ocean, but I just wasn't having it. Riding in this bus sucked, and it was boring. It was way more fun riding up here with my friends and the people who gave us a lift. There was stuff to do and people I would actually want to talk to. Here, I had no friends and no music to listen to. I had nothing but my backpack, the music fliers, and Ugly Cassidy next to me. He was starting to get on my nerves, too. He kept bouncing his stupid knee and he was mumbling to himself an awful lot. I couldn't catch what he was saying half the time. I checked out the other riders on the bus. I could only see the backs of their heads but a number of them were slumped forward, backward, or to the side, like they were sleeping. I wished I could fall asleep, but I was getting some creepy vibes from Ugly. If you hadn't noticed already, I decided that would be his name from now on because I didn't know his real name (not that I cared to know) and the fact that he was ugly.

What, you want a full blown lecture on it? Just trust me on this.

"Do y-you believe in r-redemption?"

I almost jumped out of my seat when Ugly talked to me. I wasn't expecting him to sound halfway coherent since he was mumbling gibberish this whole time.

"Redemption?" I questioned, forcing myself to chill out somewhat. "Like, saving someone from their sins and crap?"

Ugly slowly smiled at me and it reminded me way too much of that crazy hobo that attacked me on the beach a few nights ago. It was also creepy, like if the Crypt Keeper from EC Comics smiled at you because you were about to be killed in one of his stories.

"No, I mean r-regaining something in e-exchange for... payment – repossession."

"Let's see…" I trailed off, even glancing up at the roof as I thought of what to say. I guessed I believed in it, but what a weird ass question to ask a stranger. Talking about deep, philosophical stuff while not high was not my forte. Finally I looked at him and shrugged my shoulders. "Sure, why not?"

Ugly nodded in approval of my answer before taking his hands out of his pockets and resting them on his lap. By now, everyone was bouncing in their seats as the bus driver was driving down a bumpy as hell road. It got super noisy when the steel shell of the bus showed its age by loudly creaking like nails running down a chalkboard. Almost all of the sleeping passengers woke up and had to hold onto their seats so they wouldn't go flying out, cover their ears because of the noise, or somehow do both at the same time.

What a way to die, I thought as I gripped the top of the seat in front of me so I could hold myself steady. I gotta admit: getting tossed around like popcorn while having my eardrums explode was one way to keep from getting bored.

Thankfully, the bus driver announced he was going to pull over to the side of the road. I didn't hear the reason why but I was glad. I didn't think we went majorly far from town, but I was cool with going outside to stretch my legs. Not to mention I could use a break from Ugly and his rambling bullshit. I set my backpack down on the floor and was more than ready to leave.

Once the bus was parked, some of the passengers stayed inside to go back to sleep as the rest of us stepped out. Someone behind me puked as soon as they got off the bus. Talk about gross, but I couldn't blame them. I was starting to think if we didn't stop soon, I was going to toss my own lunch.

It was dark outside and besides the highway, all I could see were trees, trees, and more trees, without a building or any kind of structure to be seen for miles. The space between the trees was almost pitch black. It was set up as if the woods would eat you alive if you set one foot in there. This alone helped me decide that it was a good place to take a leak without anyone watching me. While the driver did an inspection of the bus, I wandered off to do my business. I slipped into the woods until I almost couldn't see where I was going. I could have held my hands to my face and hardly see my was far enough.

I was whistling "Smoke on the Water" as I finished up and zipped my pants.

A twig snapped behind me.

I spun around and saw something moving from the corner of my eye. Even though I just told you I couldn't really see much, I was somehow able to sense that someone was there. It was my gut feeling warning me:  _"Better watch out, bud."_

Except for the occasional car speeding along the road in the distance, it was quiet. Like, way, way too quiet. I was used to walking alone at night all the time back home, but there were street lights and city noises. Here? There was almost nothing to help me see, but I remember exactly where I came from. All I had to do was turn right back around and start walking. But instead of walking, I chose to haul ass.

The back of my shirt was yanked from behind. I was roughly pulled back, and then blindsided by a tackle, which got me knocked to the ground hard. It was like getting sacked by an NFL quarterback and while I was no stick figure and I kept in relatively good shape, I swore I heard one of my ribs crack.

I blacked out.

I couldn't remember how long I was out, but when I came to, I saw someone kneeling in front of me. I recognized the stained boots.

I uttered, "You…"

"That g-guy almost g-got you," Ugly told me as I slowly came to. I carefully sat up and regretted it right away. My sides hurt bad, but even with my head swimming, I had to look around. I was now in another part of the woods where I could actually see the tree tops and check out the skies. Not to mention I could actually see everything around me. Lots of grass and small rocks, nothing too exciting. Problem was, was that this wasn't where I was taking a piss. I was in a much darker place. Where the hell was I? I got up and frowned.

Ugly said something about "that guy." I staggered off in a random direction, but I didn't get too far. I stubbed my toe against some thistle and mushrooms. I caught myself as I started to fall over by stepping forward and down on my foot, and that was when I saw the crumpled body laid on its backside.

It was Psycho George from the boardwalk.

There was a huge, dark stain on his chest that seeped into his already dirty shirt. There were bloodied scratch marks on his throat and the bottom of his jaw. His stubby, knobby fingertips were covered in blood. His eyes were staring up at the sky and his mouth was parted open, like he was getting ready to scream. Except I knew he wasn't going to scream, or say or do anything anymore. I didn't feel sorry for the bastard, not after he tried to beat the shit out of one of my friends.

I'd never seen a dead body before. I mean a  ** _real_  **dead body. If his eyes were closed, he could have passed for being asleep. Just when I thought about taking another step closer, in order to convince myself that he was a legit goner, Psycho George's body twitched. My heart lurched in my chest and I took a step back, knocking into Ugly who was now behind me. The pain in my ribs flared up again and I winced in response. What bugged me more than the pain was how Ugly didn't even flinch. He was just standing there, looking. I hadn't heard him move over to where I was.

"Just… m-muscles contracting," he carefully explained. "N-Normal for that to happen."

Dude, what? _Normal?_  Words like that coming from Ugly didn't sound normal. It didn't sound right at all.

I slowly turned and caught Ugly completely leering at me with crazy, beady bug eyes. Not a good feeling. He was staring into my soul. That was when I noted blood splatter on his clothes. There was so much of it that it almost made the entire front of his shirt red. The stains looked fresh, and I knew it was fresh when I saw drops of blood run down the edge of his clothes and drip to the ground. He even had some fresh scratches on the corners of his mouth and his neck. I thought back to Psycho George's fingertips and put two and two together. I kept it cool while at the same time wondering how the hell I could make my way back to the bus. I wanted to convince the driver to ditch Ugly and go find a pay phone so we could call the cops.

"H-He was looking... looking at y-you," Ugly expressed in a low voice. "Saw him... follow you..."

Again with the Crypt Keeper vibe. Up close and under the natural moonlight, I saw he was sporting some coffee stained teeth, but I had bigger problems than his personal hygiene. "He wasn't right in the head…"

"Uh-huh," I said, slowly nodding, telling myself if anybody here wasn't right in the head, it was  ** _HIM_**. I wanted to bolt, but I didn't know how fast he could run, and I didn't want to find out.

"Remember what I said about... r-r-redemption?" he asked as he reached into his back pocket and produced a switchblade. It flipped open, revealing a wet blade. I don't have to tell you why the knife was wet. "I-I saved your life… and n-now… I-I'll take my payment from you."

Aw, hell.

I should have stayed home.


	7. Before the Fight Ends You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Paul fights for his life.

Picture this: a slick, handsome, future of America 70s teen from SoCal about to get molested or ripped apart by some psychopath who killed another psychopath just so he could fulfill his whole stupid "redemption" deal he had been rambling about on the bus. Ugly Cass was closing in on me fast, and I had Psycho George's corpse right behind me. I could've gone left or right, but I didn't know which way to go. I was nervous. I never had to fight for my life before. This was too real and it was happening too fast.

Think, Paul,  _ **THINK!**_

Out of nowhere, the sound of a shit ton of bats screeching and wings flapping was heard all around us. Ugly was ready to take his first swipe at me with that bloodied switch blade, when he was grabbed by unseen hands and thrust high into the air. I couldn't even see any of the bats or whatever it was that grabbed Ugly… for that matter, I couldn't even see Ugly anymore! Where'd he go!?

I took that as a sign to get outta Dodge. I picked a random direction to run to and bolted as fast as I could. A major thing I learned from watching horror movies was not to look back, because looking back made you slow down just a little, to where it got you distracted long enough to fuck up and trip over something or someone, or slam into the killer themselves.

I kept running, and running, and running. I sped through the darkness and no matter what, I forced myself to pump my arms and legs. If I were to bump into something, I'd push myself away, go around it, and keep running.

_Don't stop,_  I kept thinking to myself.  _Don't you **DARE**  stop!_

P.E. coaches used to hound me about joining track and field, because they saw I had long legs. They knew I could run, but I was usually too busy getting high behind the bleachers, or I'd lazily jog behind everyone else and allow myself to take it easy. Now I was thinking that taking up track wouldn't be such a bad idea…

That was when I heard someone scream. It was hard on the ears because it was so loud and it echoed. It sounded like it was happening right above me. I was sure the whole damn forest could hear Ugly as he was getting tortured by whatever was out there. I wasn't going to waste brain cells wondering what took care of the asshole, but I was grateful. I was picked to live. Why? I dunno, but I wasn't going to complain!

Miraculously I burst out of the forest and discovered the highway just a few feet away. I collapsed onto my hands and knees and panted heavily. I was sweating bullets and it got to the point where my hair was plastered against my forehead and the back of my neck. My clothes were sticking to me like second skin. That had to have been the fastest I'd ever run in my entire life!

A round of applause surrounded me. I looked up and saw the bus driver and all of the passengers clapping their hands. Some of them cheered loudly for me and one dude even fired a pistol in the air.

Suddenly, Lynda Carter, AKA Wonder Woman, decked out in her superhero costume, emerged from crowd and knelt down in front of me. WOW! The real Wonder Woman?! What straight dude didn't have a crush on her back then? She was fighting crime wearing that wicked little suit that showed her off in all the right ways.

"You were very brave, Paul," the totally hot super chick said to me as she reached out to touch the side of my face. "Not too many people, let alone men, can handle the horrors of Santa Carla. You are a legend. You deserve a kiss."

Now everyone else was cheering,  _"Paul! Paul! Paul!"_

I could only sit there and raise my fist above my head, smiling all big and proud as I let my ego grow to the size of California itself. Wait until I told everyone back home what I did here!

Wonder Woman leaned toward me and I closed my eyes, ready to accept the most famous kiss I would ever get.

**Cue the record needle scratch.**

Yeah, I bet you were expecting me to reveal that it was the Lost Boys back there who showed up and saved me, right? Like David would've been impressed with how I handled myself that he wanted to bring me into the group right there and then.

Ha, ha, I'm gonna burst your bubble and tell you that you're talking about a decade too early for that kind of stuff. Besides, they'd never take in a random teenager, no matter what kind of stories you hear about us doing so. Don't remind me about Mikey, either, because **LOOK HOW THAT TURNED OUT.**  If it had been up to us, none of us would've wanted any of the Emersons as part of our family!  _Buuut_  that's another rant for another time, another story. Let's get back to my story and how I had to save my own ass from Ugly.

No Lost Boys and no Wonder Woman. It was just me and Ugly in the woods, with a dead body occasionally twitching.

Ugly took a swipe at me with that blade of his and I flung myself sideways. Then I jumped backwards to give myself distance from him. The back of my heel hit something hard. Glancing down quick, I saw it was a fist sized rock. I grabbed that sucker and kept moving backwards, wanting to keep as far away from Ugly as possible.

"C-Come back… come b-back to m-me…" he kept saying in such a creepy voice that would have sent chills down any sane person's spine. He was swinging his blade around like a maniac, not caring what he hit. He was starting to laugh. He apparently thought he was hilarious. Hands down, he would win Creeper of the Year Award.

Was I really going to attempt to fight this nutcase? Or should I just try and make a run for it and hope that I'm faster than him? I'd opt for the second choice if I even knew which direction to run for.

"SHIT!" I yelped, because before I knew it, Ugly Cass was right on top of me. I didn't even see him move. It was one of those "blink and you miss it" moments. He must have been pumped with adrenaline, all charged up like the Energizer Bunny, who just kept going and going and going. By the way, I know that rabbit didn't show up 'til the late 80s; and yeah, I know this is the 70s, but this is my story so I can use whatever reference I want! Meanwhile my dumb ass was trying to think too much instead of just moving! It was funny, seeing as how I was (and still am) the type of person who did stuff on the fly and maybe only thought about it afterward.

This was when the weird thing happened.

I was watching myself on the outside, you know, like one of those outer body experiences. I saw Ugly Cass grab my wrist, which was connected to the hand that was holding the rock, while he took a swing at me with his blade. My body turned into dead weight and I fell straight down. He didn't expect this and his upper body started going down with me. As soon as my ass hit the ground, I drove my foot into Cass's knee. There was a loud crack, Cass screamed out, and he buckled over me. I tried to yank my wrist free but he still had a good hold over it, so I kicked him in his shin a few times. He landed on his face and knees right before the butt of the knife bounced off my head. That was my signal to do something major. Ugly Cass was left open. I couldn't screw this up.

I wrenched myself free from his grasp, and as he rolled onto his backside, I reached in and struck his face with the rock. I didn't hold back. I swung like I was trying to hit a home run. His face jerked violently to the side. Even in what little light the moonlight gave me, I saw something oozing from his scalp. I didn't stop. I kept swinging at him with everything I had. Same place, over and over again. I was now on top of him, beating his head in with the rock. I wasn't scared anymore. At this point, I was pissed off.  _THIS_  asshole was going to decide what was going to happen to me? As if he had any right to decide whether I was going to live or die? No  _FUCKING_  way.

I saw red big time. Actually, everything was red: the trees, the skies, the moon, the lifeless body I was straddling. I didn't care that what I was doing wasn't normal. I was caught in the moment of having absolute control. My life was far beyond perfect, but I'd be damned if I let anyone tell  _ME_  when it was time to go. That right belonged to me and me only.

The rock slipped from my grasp and tumbled to the grass. It was then I snapped out of my rage and found myself back in my body again. I was wheezing and sweating like a pig. I couldn't look down at what I did, because I knew it was bad. I didn't want to give myself nightmares over this. I just knew that Ugly Cass was dead. There was no getting back up from what I did to him. I sat on his chest for a while just taking in the quiet sounds of the forest.

I did it. I totally did it. I survived.

**I got to live.**

In the distance, I heard the bus engine get fired up and I immediately jumped to my feet. I ditched the body and with my own burst of energy, I honed in on the sound of the bus. I sprinted like a madman. I was wiping the sides of my hands on my shirt, not knowing if it was sweat or blood or both. I even pulled off my shirt and switched it inside out so the stains wouldn't be as noticeable. All I wanted to do now was go home and I wouldn't even care how long the ride would take, just so long as it took me away from here.

I broke through the familiar clearing and saw the beautiful sight of the Greyhound bus. Everyone was inside and the headlines were switched on. I wasted no time in making a break for it. Just as the doors started to close, I did one of those leaps of faith deals, like I was vaulting in some Olympic event.

I gave the driver a nice heart attack when the doors caught the front of my shoe, preventing them from closing completely. I rapped on the doors with my knuckles and the bus driver took the hint. I was grinning like a madman as I pulled myself inside.

"Jesus Christ," the driver muttered when the doors closed behind me. I smirked and even gave him the thumbs up. He worked the shifting gears and started to drive back onto the highway. The driver ignored my attempt at being slick and told me to sit down, which I was more than happy to do.

A lot of the passengers were asleep once again while I dragged myself down the aisle to my seat in the back. There was no role call or nothing to see if everyone made it back into the bus. If you missed your bus when it took off, it was tough shit. You already paid for the entire ride once your ticket was purchased.

My legs felt like jelly, all wobbly and weak. I was beat, and by the time I got myself settled in my original spot, I was ready to fall asleep. My backpack was still tucked underneath the seat, undisturbed. I rested my head against the window, and I watched as we steered away from the area, leaving behind the woods where I almost died, and where I made my first kill.

Look, back then, I didn't want to kill Cass. I just wanted him to leave me the hell alone. If I had been a vampire back then, I would have enjoyed making his life a misery. He would have regretted ever thinking about tangling with yours truly! But when you're just a kid looking for a good time, having to kill a dude even in self-defense didn't exactly feel great. I wanted to live, no question about it, but it didn't have to cost anyone their lives. I kept telling myself that he made me do it. I didn't want to, but he made me, so I shouldn't feel guilty about it. The guy was bonkers. If I hadn't done what I did, he would have gone after someone else. Maybe that someone else wouldn't have been able to fight back. They could have been another victim.

I did the right thing, but I wasn't going to brag to anyone what I did, either.

There was no counseling for stuff like this back then, even if I did go for some kind of help. Shit happened, you dealt with it, and then it was back to business. I remembered when I was in middle school, a kid in my class hung himself. It was right before school started, too, when we all found him. There was this big oak tree in the school yard and guess where that kid decided to commit suicide? Yup, right there for everyone to see as we were all coming to school bright and early. Talk about a wake up call. We later earned he was having problems at home and he didn't have too many friends, but nobody knew it was going to lead to him doing what he did. It was fucked up seeing a little body like that hanging there, but none of us went home all traumatized and shit because of it. The teachers just talked about it a little and then we went back to learning lessons and stuff.

What I did to Cass was out of self-defense, plain and simple. I didn't feel sorry for what I did, because he sure as hell wouldn't have any kind of remorse if he'd gotten his hands on me. See, I was able to make myself better about the situation. You can't expect the world to cater to your comfort zones.

If you have those kinds of expectations, you're gonna get eaten alive.


	8. Mama I'm Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul returns home from his adventures in Santa Carla and it's a mixed bag.

"C'mon, kid, end of the line."

Rough hands shook my shoulders but I had a hell of a time trying to wake up. My whole body weighed a ton. As I opened my eyes, I saw it was daylight. The seats in front and all around me were empty. I watched the bus driver as he walked away from me and stepped outside. I tried to shake the cobwebs out of my head as I fumbled for my backpack under my seat. My shirt was crusty from the dried blood on the inside and it was scratching my skin. That was when I remembered what I did back there in Santa Carla…

I was passed out this whole time that I didn't even dream or nothing. I just wanted to forget about that asshole who tried to end me, because I was the one who ended him. I was… sixteen? Shit, probably not even sixteen yet. Fourteen? Fifteen?

See, this is what happens when you try to think back about your human life. You forget stuff, because it shouldn't matter to you anymore as a vampire. Fuck it, I'm going to say I was sixteen. Didn't have my driver's license but I killed a man, so how's that for you?

I made my way off the bus and found myself at the Greyhound station back home. Even though it was way early in the morning, there were already a bunch of people lining up to get going on their trips. I felt like I slept a lot, but lemme tell you, I was still exhausted.

"Paul! Paul!"

A young, scratchy voice called out to me from a distance. I turned to the sound and smiled all goofy when I saw my baby brother, Joey, running over to me. He had his arms stretched out as his hand-me-down sneakers stomped on the sidewalk. Every time I saw him, I swore he was getting bigger and bigger. My body no longer felt like dead weight as I was able to kneel down and stretch my own arms out. As soon as his small body collided into mine, I gave that awesome kid a hug. I fell on my backside and laughed as Joey hugged me back and curled up into me, saying how much he missed me. That got me right there in the feels. I knew I didn't spend a whole lot of time with Joey like I used to. I was always off hanging out, getting high, going to concerts, and just doing whatever I wanted to make life less boring. If Joey was a little older, I wouldn't have minded bringing him along with me, showing him what his big brother was all about.

I gently ruffled Joey's hair as I noticed Grams standing next to us. Poor lady was getting up there in age, not to mention she gained a lot of weight, and was using a cane to walk around with. It was actually the first time I'd seen her with one. She was someone else I didn't get to see as much, but it was mostly because she and Grandpa Crash had to move into a retirement home a few miles away with the help of nieces and nephews. She just couldn't take care of Crash by herself no more. Did I tell you this shit already in one of the past chapters? If I did, uh... there you go, another reminder about that.

"I'll take us home," Grams announced, and she waited for me to get up. I half expected her to scold me and tell me how worried she was that I took off without warning, but none of that happened, which weirded me out some. I had Joey in my arms as we made our way to Gram's car. She drove around in a 1950s Chevy Truck and even though she didn't drive around a whole lot, she still kept it in great shape. I actually learned a few things about auto mechanics from Grams. She had an older brother who taught her how to change the oil, how to fix a tire, and all that basic stuff. He died some time in WWII when she was a teenager, but she remembered everything he taught her. Even nowadays when I tinker with my bike, I remember the tips Grams taught me.

I was still expecting Grams to give me an earful on the ride home. She had to have known what happened, because I remember the cops in Santa Carla telling me that it had been my mom who wired me the money to get me home. Then I learned it was Grams who did that, not my mom.

"How's Mom?" I asked as I rode in the passenger seat with Joey sitting on my lap. We didn't have such strict laws about where kids sat back then. So long as you didn't go flying through the windshield, you could sit anywhere in the car. Seat belts helped, too.

"She and Steve got into a terrible fight," Grams replied without taking her eyes off the road ahead of her. I swore there was no sound of remorse or pity coming out of her. "Steve left and your mother…"

My spirits soared as soon as I heard "Steve left." Wow! The douche was gone?! I could only pray to the high heavens that he was gone for good! That lazy, no good prick was a vampire sucking my mom out of everything she had: money, resources,  _LIFE…_

Against my chest, I heard Joey mumble, "I miss Daddy."

I grimaced. I couldn't admit it to anyone, but I hated that the one good thing Steve was decent at, was being a dad to Joey. For some weird reason, he was an actual dad toward him. He fed him, clothed him, talked to him… Like, who the hell was this guy? Why couldn't we always get this version of Steve? Instead the rest of us got stuck with the sociopath who loved to blame everyone for his own short comings. There was probably some weird, psychological explanation for this, one that I would never learn about.

"So... Mom's at work?" I asked Grams as I rubbed my half-brother's backside, wanting to comfort him without lying through my teeth about missing his dad, too. I wouldn't miss Steve for anything.

"She's at home, in a funk. With you gone without a word and Steve leaving, she just fell apart. I was actually with her, trying to help her get her act together when the police called about you."

I groaned, feeling like a jackass even though I shouldn't have. Mom never acted this way about me before. Yeah, she busted her behind trying to support me when it was just the two of us, but ever since Steve came around, her world just revolved around him. She never acted like she noticed me not being home a lot before. It was probably just the coincidental timing of my leaving and her fight with Steve that made her this way.

Joey pulled at my shirt and wrinkled his nose. Looking up at me, he said, "You're stinky, Paul."

I chuckled lightly even as the memories of what I did to Ugly Cass slammed into me, clouding my vision. I pretended to look out the side window, and I squeezed my eyes shut. I willed the memories to get the hell out of my mind. I should have figured passing out wasn't going to make what happened go away. This was shit that was going to stick with me for a very long time.

"What made you decide on Santa Carla?" Grams asked me, pulling me out of my own funk.

I laughed and shrugged my shoulders as I looked forward once again, noticing the familiar sights of my neighborhood. Joey shifted in my lap so that he was sitting with his back to my chest. I admitted to Grams that the trip was on a whim, and that I went with my buddies… who I suddenly remembered for the first time in a long while. Were they still in Santa Carla? Or did they make it back already? You probably already know that in the 70s, we didn't have cell phones to keep in touch. It went down basically like this: if you didn't hear from your friends or see them in school within days, it was safe to assume they were dead... or they moved away, whatever. Don't get me wrong, I WANTED them to be okay. They were the closest amigos I had as a kid. Then Grams talked a little about how she visited Santa Carla in the mid 50s with her family. She did the typical boardwalk visit and all that. No mention of any weird stuff happening to her, though.

Grams pulled up to the sidewalk of our place and announced she had to go back to Grandpa Crash. This meant it would just be me, Mom, and Joey for the first time… ever! Steve was like a leech, never wanting to leave the house unless he had to, but with him gone, it was going to be different and in the best way possible.

After Grams promised to check up on us later, she took off. I put my backpack on Joey since it was still filled with nothing but fliers, and I held his hand as he walked up to the front door. That was when my brother told me he had a surprise for me.

I looked down at him just as he looked up at me, and I grinned. "For yours truly?"

"Yeah, it's inside."

"Seriously?!"

"Me an' Grammy gots it for you from the pier."

The Santa Monica Pier was kinda like the Santa Carla Boardwalk, only it had an aquarium instead of an arcade. They got some other differences too, but I ain't here to ramble on about the two. Plus there were no vampires at the pier… least that I knew of at the time. Wonder if there were any? How about today? I'll go ask David later since he's been around the longest.

"Buddy, I can't wait to see the surprise," I told Joey cheerfully as I knocked on the door a bunch of times before just turning the knob and walking in, as the door was always unlocked because the idiot, Steve, always forgot his keys. I was always purposely obnoxious with my knocks, because I couldn't just be like everyone and do a simple couple of raps with my knuckles. I wanted to make an impression, even in my own home.

Going into the front room, I saw that Steve's crap was still lying around where it never belonged, and photos of his rat-like face still hung on the walls. I kicked away one of his shirts that was on the carpet before making my way into the kitchen. I found Mom sitting alone on the counter with a nice, growing collection of beer cans next to her. She was in her pajamas and her hair was up in a messy bun.

"Mama?" Joey called out as he stood next to me with one hand clutching my pants.

"Hey, Ma, what's happening?" I greeted her, trying not to think how long she was drinking since Steve left.

Mom slowly turned around and stared at me. Her eyes were red and she didn't look like she slept for days.

"So... you came... back," were the first words that came out of her mouth, before she fell off the stool. Both me and Joey scrambled over to her and helped her sit up off the ground, even when she tried to push me away.

"Dude, Ma, you having your own kind of party, huh?" I joked as I made sure she didn't crack her skull from the fall. I had her lean against me because she could barely sit up on her own, while Joey tried not to cry. The kid was trying to be brave when he didn't have to be.

Mom was definitely not in the best shape as she tried to keep shoving me away. "You… you left me… just la... like he… he left me," she said, her words slurring.

I sighed and told Joey to go play in his room while I tried to pick up Mom. I wasn't a major power lifter or anything, but it kind of scared me how light as a pillow she was when I stood up and was carrying her in my arms.

"Mama gonna be okay?" Joey asked as he started sniffling.

"She'll be okay," I assured him before carting Mom to the bedroom. I pushed the door open with my foot and took her to her bed. It didn't look like Steve took any of his stuff from here, either. Made me wonder if he just left without taking anything. Would've been nice if all of that meant he was gone for good.

I couldn't remember Mom ever being a mess like this. I didn't even know she was a drinker. When I was little, she was a workaholic so she could take care of me. When Steve came around, she still worked a lot, but it was mostly so she could buy whatever that tool wanted. I didn't like how Mom could fall apart like this for a guy.

"It'll be fine, Ma," I told her as I carefully laid her down on the bed and pulled the covers up to her chest. She had her eyes closed and her head turned to the side, and I wasn't sure if she was listening to me or not. "You mad at me? I didn't mean to leave without saying nothing. I… got some fliers to show you when you wake up, okay? I'm gonna watch Joey 'til you feel better."

She didn't say anything so I just left the room. I closed the door behind and was on my way to find Joey when I noticed my bedroom door was halfway open. I always kept it shut no matter what. I immediately went inside and noticed a stack of my records was missing. In a panic, I searched my room for my 8 tracks and cassette tapes, and a lot of them were missing, too. I lifted my mattress and noticed that my weed was gone.

Fucking Steve! I knew it was him, because he was the only other pot smoker in the house. He left alright, but not without taking my shit to sell. I was majorly seeing red now. I grabbed the nearest object I could get my hands on, an empty bowl I hadn't washed in over a month, and flung it against the wall. It shattered and even left a crack in the drywall. I started pacing around my room, stepping over my clothes and magazines. I was aching to start smashing stuff with my fists. Never mind the fact I wanted to forget about murdering a man in Santa Carla, this was  _ **not**  _the home I wanted to come back to. I wanted my stuff back but I still wanted Steve out of the picture! No, wait, I wanted to give Steve one good ass kicking, one that would make him ever regret hooking up with Mom. Killing him would have been the easy way out. I wanted him to suffer. The only,  _ONLY_  good thing he did for this family was give me Joey.

"… Paul…?"

I stopped and turned to see Joey standing at the doorway with his hand on the door knob. His other hand was behind his back and he had wet tears down his cheeks. That killed me, seeing him so upset, and my rage quietly died down. He probably started crying after seeing Mom fall down, then got scared when he heard me throwing the bowl. I knelt down and Joey didn't hesitate to run over to me. I crushed him against my chest and Joey sniffled.

"S'gonna be alright, bud," I told him gently as I kissed the top of his head and had him look at me. "You believe me, right?"

Joey sniffled again and stepped back just enough so he could show me what he was hiding behind his back. In the palm of his hand was a ring with a wicked blue eyeball. You guessed it, it's the same ring you see me with these days. It was of the few things I've kept from my life as a human.

"Far out!" I said excitedly as I gently took it from my brother. I usually wasn't one for wearing jewelry, but I thought this was the coolest thing I could wear and show off. It wasn't something everyone was wearing and it was definitely a great future conversation starter. "This is what you got me from the pier?"

"I saws it an' told Grammy 'Paul would like it,' and so she boughts it," Joey told me as he used the back of his hand to wipe his face. I was going to use my shirt to clean him, when I remembered it still had blood and sweat on it. I didn't want anything like that touching my brother. I told him to hang tight as I slipped on the ring and went to grab a clean towel from the bathroom. I came back and dried his face before sitting cross-legged in front of him.

"This is the best present I've ever gotten," I told Joey straight up, and it made him smile. Holding up the hand with the eyeball ring, I vowed I wouldn't ever take it off.

Joey beamed. "Promise?"

"Promise!"

**Author's Note:**

> Loved it? Hated it? Meh? C&Cs would be very much appreciated. I haven't seen too many people attempt at anything in-depth in terms of Paul's background, so this was my personal take on it. It may not be how you imagined his life would be prior to becoming a vampire but this was fun for me to tackle. Thank you for reading!


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